


All Bets Are Off

by Luv15



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22741924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luv15/pseuds/Luv15
Summary: Wedge Antilles notices that things seem to be warming up on Hoth between Princess Leia Organa and Captain Han Solo.  Rogue antics. Female Rebels!!
Relationships: Leia Organa/Han Solo
Comments: 48
Kudos: 81
Collections: HanLeia Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic could never have been completed without the generous and expert editorial assistance of the dynamic duo of Erin Darroch and Justine Graham. Ladies, you are amazing, kind, funny, smart as hell and damn fine humans. Many, many thanks and much love.
> 
> Hope readers enjoy this bit of fluff. Please let me know if more chapters should be posted.

CHAPTER ONE 

“That can’t possibly end well,” Wedge Antilles gestured toward the Millennium Falcon. The battered CEC YT-1300 was docked directly across the hangar from Rogue Squadron’s X-wings.

Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian glanced up from tinkering with their ship’s landing gear, tracking Wedge’s gaze across the hangar to where Leia Organa, a vision in a white snowsuit and a crown of braided hair, was perched prettily atop a tall crate set near the Falcon’s ramp. She was engaged in what seemed to be—to Wedge’s surprise—a civil conversation with the ship’s captain.

“They’ve been yapping for more than an hour,” Wes observed, coming out from beneath his fighter and scrambling to his feet. “I keep waiting for the explosion.”

Captain Han Solo was crouched on one knee across from the princess. The Corellian’s features were placid enough, though he became more animated as he spoke, his large hands gesticulating wildly.

“Oh, here it comes,” Wedge smirked. “Solo’s finger will be shaking in Her Highness’s face in ten, nine, eight…”

True to Wedge’s prediction, Han’s long index finger stretched out toward the dainty Alderaanian woman—but instead of waggling accusingly, the digit tapped lightly on the tip of Leia’s nose. 

Wedge heard a collective gasp from the watching Rogues. He knew what they must be thinking, all having witnessed a host of similar exchanges in the past: they expected a fierce response from the princess—and Wedge held his breath in anticipation of the inevitable flaring of her fiery temper.

Instead, to his astonishment, the princess simply threw her head back and laughed. She then hopped down from the crate and responded to the smuggler’s touch with a swift—but clearly playful—jab to his ribs before pivoting on her booted heel. As she turned and retreated a few steps, she tossed a smile and a comment over her shoulder—one that Wedge couldn’t quite make out, muffled as it was by the noise of the busy hanger. 

But Han heard. That much was clear, judging by the way the Corellian’s smirk immediately morphed into a wide grin. 

Wedge’s mouth fell open. Solo and the Princess—were they...had they been...flirting?

A quizzical furrow creasing his brow, Wedge turned to look at Janson and the other Rogues. They were all gaping, too, casting incredulous looks between the diminutive princess’ retreating form and the chuckling Corellian.

“What in the nine hells…?” Janson muttered. 

Swivelling his head to stare at his friend, Wedge gave a shrug that indicated that he was as baffled as Janson looked.

“Hey, Your Worshipfulness.” 

Wedge’s head snapped back in Solo’s direction as the smuggler called out, the lilt in his voice as light and teasing as the grin on his face. His eyes flicked back to the princess, watching as she turned with a smirk of her own, and then tracked back to Han where he stood, rubbing the spot on his side where she had playfully jabbed him.

“You got lucky,” Solo called. “Next time,” he said, his tone mockly warning, “I'll be ready for you.”

Wedge watched, incredulous, as the pair continued to gaze at each other for a tick before Solo offered a wink and a half-assed salute. Leia dipped her head in sparkly-eyed acknowledgement, her lips pressed tight to contain the curl tugging at the corner of her mouth. Then she turned once more and continued on her meandering course through the stacks of equipment to exit the hangar—a path that took her directly past the assembled Rogues. 

The princess offered a warm smile as she approached. “Hello, Wedge. Wes,” she said as she ambled by, and then stopped to peer beneath the adjacent X-wing to offer a “Hey, Derek!” to Hobbie.

“Hey ya, Princess,” Hobbie acknowledged as she glided away.

“What the hells?” Wes whined, sounding miffed. “What was that?”

Wedge shrugged, doing his best to act disinterested—when, in truth, he was greatly intrigued. He fancied himself a keen observer of human behavior. His watchful eyes caught the simple tells people unwittingly gave that spoke volumes about their next move or underlying intentions. He understood that the slower, more solemn blinks of Luke Skywalker’s baby-blues broadcast when he was holding a good sabacc hand. A pinched, inhaled breath from Mon Mothma foretold a critical barrage about the sorry state of conduct on base. Hobbie always got a case of the hiccups when he was overly tired. Leia Organa’s narrowed eyes and sour pout were a dead giveaway that she’d had a recent and fractious encounter with Han Solo. And the usually unreadable Solo was an open book of irritation after his contentious dealings with the plucky princess. 

Knowing this, Wedge was having a hard time interpreting this new type of interaction between Echo Base’s most argumentative pair. He decided it could be very worthwhile, and possibly quite entertaining, to keep an eye on them and watch matters unfold.

The usually dour Hobbie climbed to his feet, and turned to his fellow Rogues. “Good to see her so cheerful, no?”

“No!” Wes squawked. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re a gundark, Janson,” Hobbie snapped. “The princess is nice. Why would you want to see Solo upset her?”

“Because their little spats are the only entertainment we have around this frozen dump, that’s why! Where’s their sense of duty when it comes to building morale?”

Wedge watched as Hobbie narrowed his eyes, glaring at Wes while the Tanaaban pilot continued to press his point. “Your nice little princess can be quite the antagonist, Klivian. I’ve seen her throw it back at Solo as hard or harder than he can dish it out. We need to come up with a reason for them to really battle, put on a show.”

“Cool it, Wes.” Luke Skywalker’s familiar voice intoned. 

The Rogues all shifted or angled around to watch the commander as he trotted up and joined the group.

“You saw that, kid?” Wes inquired. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Luke returned, and then tossed his flight helmet at Janson. “And I think Han and Leia go at it enough without you provoking them.”

“But you gotta admit, Lukie,” Janson reasoned as he caught the beat-up head gear in both hands before setting it down on the bench beside him, “their arguments have been the hottest things to happen around this icy hell hole in all the time we’ve been based here.”

True, Wedge thought to himself. But if Han’s waggish behavior and the princess’ coy reaction were any indication, those knock-down drag-out days might well be coming to an end. 

“I mean, think about it, guys,” Wes continued. “What are we going to do for entertainment if we can’t sit back and watch the sparks fly?”

Growing tired of Janson’s whining, he scolded, “If you’re so bored, Wes, why don’t you come up with one of your grand schemes to break the monotony?”

“I just might do that, Wedge,” Janson contemplated aloud, rubbing his chin. “I just might.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wes' plan is revealed.

“You had us, Janson,” scoffed Lyrena Vitrk, “until you named the holo.”

Wedge turned to look at the curly-haired leader of Green Squadron. She and her posse of pilots and techs were gathered in the mess hall for lunch, where Wes was detailing his idea to hold a holomovie night in the massive Hoth base hangar complete with traditional holoflick snacks and, of course, cocktails.

“I’d rather stay in and mend my socks than sit through 'Stag Night on Coruscant',” groused communications specialist Evie Touvi. “Males seem to think that crap is funny, but most females hate it. And the Greens outnumber you by at least eight or nine votes.” 

“Told you 'Stag Night' was a bad choice,” Hobbie frowned at Janson.

“And don’t even think about adding those ridiculous old ‘Three Saps’ shorts to whatever you show!” Lyrena added in a warning tone. “Why guys find them hilarious is beyond me.” She turned to smile sweetly at Hobbie. “Please pass the sauce, Derek.” 

“Gods, those are the worst,” technician Synja Quasik groaned and rolled her eyes. “So lame!” 

Wedge caught the exasperated look that Wes angled at him across the table and, as the females at the table all hummed and murmured in agreement, Janson released a defeated-sounding puff of breath. “Okay, okay, Touvi. So what do you propose?”

“Anything with Whit Lacroy,” Touvi sighed.

“Oh, yes! I’d watch him read the flight simulator handbook,” Synja offered with a dramatic swoon. “He is kriffing gorgeous!”

Wedge groaned. “No way. His smarmy rom-coms are as much a non-starter for us as the ‘Three Saps’ are for you,” he opined. “There’s gotta be something that would make everybody happy.”

“What’s goin’ on?” a familiar baritone queried.

Appearing over Wedge’s shoulder from the commissary line, Han Solo plunked two trays of food onto the table and dropped down onto the bench across from Wedge.

“Wes wants to throw a holomovie night,” Lyrena replied, scooting over to give Han room to sit. “You starving, Solo?” she gestured toward the two trays.

“One’s for—.” he didn’t need to finish. Leia arrived, close on his heels, and set a tumbler of water first onto Han’s tray and then her own.

“Good! Finally, a voice of reason,” one of the other female pilots said, nodding to the princess. “Leia, we’re putting together a holomovie night….”

“We’re—?” Wes groused. “There’s no we. The Rogues are putting it together, not Green Squadron.”

“For goddess’ sake, Wes, you know you can’t pull this off without help. Without us,” Vitryk waved a hand toward her all-female crew, “there’d be booze and nothing else.”

“She has a point,” Hobbie acknowledged wryly.

“So, Leia,” Lyrena continued, “These primitive beings want to show 'Stag Night on Coruscant'.”

“That’s a funny one,” Han chimed in, popping a veggie chip into his mouth.

“Of course you’d think so, Nerfherder,” Leia replied, punctuating her opinion with an elbow to his ribs.

“See, that’s the problem,” Wedge started to explain, watching as Leia casually moved the pickled paricha root from her plate onto Han’s, and the Falcon’s captain shook veggie chips from his bag onto Leia’s dish. “We need to come up with something that appeals to everyone.”

“This could be fun,” Luke offered enthusiastically. “How about a musical that everybody knows? We can all sing along!”

Wes fixed Skywalker with a cold, hard stare. “You are embarrassing your Squad members, Commander.”

“What?” Luke exclaimed. “Who doesn’t like 'The Wizard of Oliu'?” 

“Janson has a point, Kid,” Han rumbled, wincing. “People bustin’ out singin’ and dancin’ in the middle of an asteroid field? C’mon!” He frowned, and then looked down the table at Derek. “Hey, Hobbie, pass the sauce.”

“How ‘bout a horror movie?” Hobbie threw out, handing the bottle of red sauce to Solo. “Something like Galactic Spiders: Giant Webs of Terror.”

“Ooooh, that might be too scary for some,” Leia said with a sly grin.

Wedge caught her furtive, teasing glance at Solo, heard his mumbled, but amused retort—smartass—and watched as Leia, stifling a smile, swayed slightly in her seat. Utterly fascinated by the new dynamic between them, Wedge realized that Solo must have nudged the princess’ knee with his own under the table, and Wedge now found his attention riveted to them, agog at their unusual interactions. Ordinarily, a goad like that from the princess, followed by Solo’s immediate retort, would have comprised the opening salvos to an extended battle that would have escalated until one or the other of them stormed off. Not…whatever this was.

Synja ticked off her thoughts. “No war stories. No sappy romance. No frat-boy nonsense. How about just good old-fashioned good guy versus bad guy adventurous fun?”

“And it has to have a happy ending,” Evie adamantly voiced.

“I’ve got it,” Luke exclaimed. “Marauders of the Ancient Crypt!” 

“Oooh, good one, Skywalker!” Synja cooed. 

Similar sounds of agreement rose from around the table, indicating a general consensus. Wedge looked on as Wes started chatting with Synja and Evie, assigning tasks that would bring the event together, and then leaned across the table in Solo’s direction. “Hey, Han….” 

Wedge lowered his gaze, snagged the last veggie chip from his plate, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, staring down at his now-empty tray, still pondering the seismic shift in dynamic unfolding across the table—when he felt Wes gave his shin a solid kick. 

His head shot up, and he angled his head to glare at his friend. “Hey!” he blurted. “What the—.” 

Wes gave a quick jerk of his head at Solo and the princess. Wedge followed Janson’s gaze to find his fellow Corellian’s attention was focused on Leia who sat with her body angled toward him, her hand resting lightly on his sleeve. 

“You’ve got sauce,” he heard Leia murmur to Solo. The tip of her tongue wiggled at the corner of her mouth. “Right there.”

Janson elbowed Wedge and snickered, but Wedge couldn’t tear himself away. Han was mimicking Leia’s motion now, sweeping at the wrong side of his mouth with his tongue.

“No,” Leia repeated the action, this time with a swipe with her finger, “other side.”

Han finally licked at the right spot, “Got it?”

Leia nodded casually, and then took a bite of her sandwich, tuning back to the table conversation.

“Solo,” Janson called out again, this time gaining the Corellian’s attention. “You think you can find a copy of 'Marauders' for us when you’re out on a run? And, maybe some holoflick munchies?” 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Han shrugged, turning his attention back to his food. “Must be a million copies out there. I’ll put Chewie on snack duty. The Wook can track down grub during meteor showers.”

“Great!” Janson crowed. “We’ll set a date as soon as Han secures the flick. Finally, something to do around here besides freeze our asses off!”


	3. All Bets Are Off

The sound of Han Solo’s boot heels rapped across the hangar floor, long legs striding with intent, straight toward an unaware Luke Skywalker. 

“What the hells, Kid?” he cried, arms spread out in exasperation.

Luke and his Rogue compatriots peered up from their makeshift card table as Han launched into a tirade.

“You were supposed to make sure she didn’t pull one of her half-assed stunts while I was gone!”

Luke sighed deeply. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Tie her to her office chair?”

“Yes! She’s kriffin’ little. How hard would that have been?” He wasn’t quite shouting, but his loud tone rang with displeasure.

“Oh, like you could stop her from doing what she sets her mind to do?” Luke said. “Ha!”

“You could at least have gotten assigned to go with her!” Solo argued.

“Pargaux’s leadership is matriarchal, Han. She’s with the women pilots from Green Squadron and that new female security chief….” He looked for help from his fellow Rogues.

“Mactil,” Hobbie filled in the blank. “She’s a total bad-ass. The princess’ll be fine.”

“Mactil,” Luke repeated, aiming a smile of thanks at Hobbie. “It’s a diplomatic mission. Leia wanted to show them that the Rebellion has a lot of women in positions of authority, to help gain their support.”

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on diplomacy,” Han groused at Luke. “She should have waited for me to get back to fly her there. Those Pargauxians can be vicious, Kid.”

Wedge stifled a laugh. He knew Han was searching for anything to support his argument that he should accompany the princess on all her missions.

“I’m sure the presence of a crazy Corellian male acting all macho would have moved diplomatic relations forward….” Luke arched a wry eyebrow.

“Hey! I can be diplomatic,” the indignant Corellian countered.

“Sure you can, Han,” Antilles stated with an ironic lilt, popping the top off a beer and handing it to the quarrelsome captain. “We’ve all seen your stellar work in that area....”

“How far’s your brand of diplomacy got you with the princess, Solo?” Wes Janson teased.

The color was rising from Han’s neck and he sputtered, “How far…I’m not…she’s…hey, somebody has to look out for...here’s your damned holo, Janson,” Han growled, as he tossed Wes the disk he had brought with him. Slamming the bottle of beer onto the card table, Solo swiveled on his heel and stormed back to his ship.

“Aaaand there he goes, gentlemen,” Wedge tipping his beer at the exiting spacer, “the esteemed Ambassador from Corellia, Captain of the Fastest Hunk of Junk in the Galaxy, Self-Appointed Protector of the Princess of Alderaan and totally in denial….Haaaaan Sooooolo.”

“Ten credits says their first run-in ends in a shouting match,” Wes snorted. 

“I’m in,” Hobbie chirped. “Sounds like a sure thing, as riled as Solo seemed.”

Janson nudged Wedge. “You in?”

The Corellian was stroking his chin as he continued watching the Falcon’s captain stomp back to his ship. “Nah, count me out. Not feelin’ it.” While not compelled to wager, Wedge did feel like something was up between the princess and the mercenary pilot. He’d save his credits for what he thought was a far more certain bet, one that had nothing to do with verbal blows.


	4. Chapter Four

Commander Lyrena Vitrk arrived back on base in the company of Leia Organa and their all-female mission team, and promptly set the crew to work on locking down the ships that had just returned from Pargaux. They were all exhausted, but the princess seemed pleased by the diplomatic progress she had made during her meetings with the Pargauxian hierarchy. 

They were all looking forward to some downtime, but Lyrena realized that would be somewhat delayed when she looked up and saw Han Solo approaching the Green Squadron’s landing area.

“Hey, Princess,” he called. “Got a minute?” 

Security Officer Drina Mactil, standing at Leia’s side and engaged in earnest conversation with the Alderaani princess, abruptly stopped speaking and eyed the tall Corellian suspiciously. It was obvious to Lyrena that the stern security expert was ascertaining the threat level, taking in Han’s size, his low slung blaster and his seeming familiarity with the royal young woman in her charge. 

The Falcon’s pilot noticed the scrutiny and jutted his jaw at her, but spread his hands wide as if to show he presented no threat.

“Is this being bothering you, Princess?”

“Yes, he is,” Leia sighed, “but he’s harmless.”

Han frowned at the princess’ condescending rebuff, which she answered with a dry arch of one fine eyebrow.

“Officer Mactil, this is Captain Han Solo, a contract employee of the Alliance. He often pilots his ship on my missions,” Leia pointed across the hangar to the Millennium Falcon.

Mactil’s eyes widened at the sight of the beat-up freighter. “Your Highness, in terms of your safety, is that wise?”

“Hey!” Han snapped at the imposing woman.

Lyrena glanced back and forth between the pair. Mactil was nearly as tall as the Corellian pilot, and her deep brown skin presented a striking contrast against her buff-colored Alliance fatigues. She appeared unperturbed by Han’s outburst, coolly scanning him up and down with dark amber eyes before flicking her gaze back to his ship.

“I will need to inspect your vessel, Captain, before we can allow the princess to take another flight with you.” 

“Inspect my… allow…?” Han sputtered. “Look, sister, that ship has saved her tiny ass on more than…”

“Thank you, Drina,” Leia interjected, speaking warmly to the officer. “We can discuss this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am. Good-bye, Captain. I’m sure we’ll meet again.” The security officer shot Solo a final stony glare, and then turned on her heel and marched away.

The second she was out of earshot, Solo gave an exasperated-sounding huff. “What the hells, Sweetheart?” the Corellian complained as he lifted Leia’s travel bag by the straps and prepared to sling it over his shoulder.

“Don’t ‘what the hells’ me, Captain,” Leia said, eyeing him up and down. Reaching out, she snagged her bag back from him and gave him a scowl. 

The snarky intonation she gave the word “captain” clearly riled Solo, and he bit back at the diminutive diplomat. “You haven’t seen me in three days, Your Worship, so whatever it is that has your undies in a bunch can’t be my fault.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she said dryly. “But you seem to have the remarkable ability to annoy me and cause me trouble even when I’m light years away.” 

“Annoy you...what trouble? What in the nine hells—.” 

“Ahhhh, just like old times,” Lyrena sighed, watching the two bicker. 

While Lyrena finalized her block of flight data into the log, she—and the rest of the Green Squadron crew gathered alongside her—listened in as the princess and the smuggler carried on with their cantankerous conversation, seemingly oblivious to their nearby audience. 

“Janson will be sorry he’s missing this,” Touvi said as she ventured over to stand at her commanding officer’s shoulder. Lyrena tapped the last of her report into the datapad and then offered it to the communications specialist. She accepted it with a nod, and then began logging her own report. “He likes it when they fight. What’s the issue this time, so I can rub it in the next time I see him?” 

“Beats me,” Lyrena shrugged. “I thought they seemed to be on friendlier terms lately.” 

She glanced over at the bickering duo, and then paused for a moment and lowered her voice. “Evie...the other night? When we were teasing Synja about her crush on Wedge? And Ryn said something about Corellian men being known for a particular, um, skill?”

Touvi glanced up, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever again be able to look at Antilles’ mouth when he’s talking.”

“And did you notice how Leia got all flustered? Mumbled an excuse, and left the room?”

“Yeah, I figured maybe we’d crossed the line, got a little too raunchy for her.”

“Nah, Leia’s not like that,” Lyrena shook her head. “Touvs, you think…” she tilted her head toward Han and Leia, who had moved a bit farther away from the crew, but were still arguing.

“Hmmmm. Don’t get that vibe off them...yet.” Touvi surveyed the squabbling couple. “Makes you wonder about the geometry of it, though.”

Lyrena furrowed her brow. “Geometry?”

“Yeah. Look at them, Lyr. He’s a good foot taller than she is. How would they…you know…fit?” She made a few broad gestures with her hands to illustrate her point. “Geometry!” 

Lyrena’s curls shook as she laughed. “I’m guessing they’d figure it out. First, they need to agree they want to work together to solve that particular mathematical problem.”

Meanwhile, Leia and Han’s disagreement continued, growing louder and more animated.

“I don’t need you to carry my bag nor do I need your approval before I go on a mission,” Lyrena heard the princess snap in an icy tone. “I can and do fend for myself, Captain, and I have covered you as well, and you damn well know it. I certainly don’t need you patronizing me like I’m some fragile little creature that needs shepherding.”

“What the—? Shepherding?” Han’s voice and face radiated exasperation.

“Pardon me,” Leia returned, her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I misspoke. You’re more familiar with nerf-herding, aren’t you?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha, Princess,” Han shot back sarcastically. “Very funny. I came over here all nice-like to ask how your trip went and I get this raft of bantha crap?”

“And while I was away, I suppose you weren’t spouting off a ‘raft of bantha crap’ about me needing you, to stay safe? I don’t need you tripping over me like some overzealous bodyguard, Captain.” 

“Who said I was….” Lyrena watched as Han’s eyes opened wide, and then narrowed in realization. “Fuckin’ Luke!” 

“Don’t bring Luke into this, Han. And don’t you think I have enough trouble being taken seriously by certain people in High Command, without you running your big mouth about me needing protection?”

Han huffed and stared down at her. “No. That is not what I—.” He stopped short and threw his arms up in frustration.

Leia appeared to brace herself in anticipation of Solo’s next barrage, but Han didn’t let loose. Instead, he planted his hands on his hips and took a calming breath. He gazed down at the princess for a moment longer, and then muttered something to her that Lyrena couldn’t quite catch, before turning on his heel and walking away. Lyrena’s eyes shifted back to Leia as the princess watched Han depart, his usual cocksure stride noticeably absent. The princess stood, rooted in place, blinking her big brown eyes and looking slightly stunned.

Before Leia could turn and catch all of Green Squadron blatantly listening to every word of the exchange, Lyrena grabbed one of the overstuffed bags nearest her and called out cheerfully, “Princess! Don’t forget your loot!”

Although she recovered her composure quickly, Lyrena couldn’t help but notice Leia’s downcast eyes and perplexed expression as she turned away from the sight of the departing Corellian spacer. 

“Hey, you okay?” Lyrena asked, her voice lowered with concern as the princess approached. 

Leia nodded as she reached for the bag. “Fine, fine,” she mumbled, and then tipped her face to meet Lyrena’s gaze with a smile. “Shopping was fun, wasn’t it?” she said, her voice sounding a bit too chipper to the Green Squadron Commander’s ears. 

She was obviously trying to change the subject and, rather than provoke the beleaguered princess, Lyrena decided just to go along with it. “Sure was,” she agreed. “That was a great bonus. Don’t often get time to shop, especially when we’re out on a run with the guys. I can’t believe I now own underwear that wasn’t issued by the military!”

Leia managed a chuckle, but Lyrena couldn’t help but notice that it sounded forced, and that her smile had faded.

“Hey,” she murmured, and reached out to place a gentle hand on Leia’s arm. “It’s none of my business but…it was kind of obvious that you and Solo were having words. Want to talk?”

Leia chewed on her bottom lip. “I…I don’t know.” 

Lyrena’s heart gave a little lurch. The princess looked so...troubled, so forlorn. Lyrena genuinely liked Leia, and had enjoyed her company over the course of the mission. But, even during their whirlwind shopping excursion, the young Alderaani had remained unflaggingly reserved, despite Lyrena’s subtle attempts to draw her out. She couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since another female had reached out to Leia with an offer to talk—if ever. It would do her a world of good to open up, to share perspective and perhaps gain some new insight on navigating through their male-dominated world with authority and agency. Or, to simply talk about men—or in Leia’s case, a specific man in particular.

“Well, I know,” Lyrena said firmly. “C’mon. I’ll grab my bag and walk you back to your quarters. We can admire each other’s purchases,” Lyrena grinned, looping her arm through Leia’s. “What you say to me, stays with me, okay?” 

After a slight hesitation, the princess nodded her assent, and the two young women began carefully maneuvering together down the icy hallway.

Moments later, the two young Rebel women were settling into Leia Organa’s private quarters.

“So, now that we’re alone….” Lyrena raised her eyebrows inquiringly as she placed her shopping bag next to Leia’s on the narrow bunk. “You don’t have to answer, Leia, but you might feel better to talk about it. What did Solo say that upset you so much back there?”

Leia shrugged as she unpacked the lacy contents of her shopping bag. “That’s just it. He didn’t. Not really. It was….I was…I mean, I didn’t give him any benefit of the… Oh, I just can’t…in any way but the worst.”

“I see,” Lyrena intoned carefully, furrowing her brow and shaking her curly head. “You know, Princess, that made no sense whatsoever.”

“That’s just it. Nothing makes sense with Han and me.” Leia took a deep breath, sat down heavily on the bunk and continued. “How do you do it, Lyr? Don’t you get pushback from the male pilots?”

“Sure, some of them,” Lyrena replied. “And the techs, too. I once had a co-pilot, who shall remain nameless…” she rolled her eyes and silently mouthed Wes Janson, eliciting a snort of laughter from Leia. “Anyway, he asked if I wanted him to take the controls during a tight landing.” 

“Take the….seriously?”

“Yeah,” Lyrena shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think they can’t help themselves. They don’t realize they’re doing it until I call them on it, then it stops. On the other hand, the guys from places like Pargaux or Alderaan—matriarchal societies—they don’t differentiate according to gender at all, simply because they weren’t raised to think that way.”

Leia nodded and breathed out another heavy sigh.

“But you know,” Lyrena offered with a tight grin, “every once in a while you get one who wants to help you because they want to do something nice for you, not because they think you need it. Because they care.” Lyrena coughed lightly and continued, “So...maybe Solo’s one of those....and not just another pilot.” She raised a brow in query. 

“That’s the problem,” Leia sighed. “Maybe he’s not.” 

Watching the princess drop her forehead into her palm, the Green Squadron commander reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. “And why is that a problem?” she murmured. “He’s a good guy. Charming as hell and, goddess knows, he’s easy on the eyes.” 

Lyrena thought that would make Leia laugh, but, when she realized it didn’t, she nudged a bit further. “Leia, what’s really wrong?”

“Time. It’s just the wrong time to get involved. There’s so much to do and getting involved with someone who’s so complicated and—.”

“Time is exactly why you should get involved and live a little,” Lyrena countered. “None of us knows how much time we have. What’s a better way to spend your time than to be with someone you love, huh?”

Leia’s head snapped up, and her dark eyes widened. “I never said anything about love, Lyrena!”

Seeing that she had struck a nerve, Lyrena backed down. “Okay, okay,” she said in a soothing tone. “Maybe not love but…caring for someone, caring a lot. That’s a good thing, Princess. No matter what else is going on in the galaxy.” 

Leia sat quietly and merely nodded in response, pensively toying with the delicate trim on her new lingerie. 

Lyrena knew in an instant that her instincts were correct. The young princess did care for Han...cared a lot, in fact. Was it love? Perhaps it was too soon for her to recognize that deep emotion. Or perhaps, given everything she had been through in her young life, all of the losses she had suffered and the pain of them that Lyrena knew the princess struggled to hide—she was afraid to allow herself to believe that she did. And perhaps she was even more afraid to think he didn’t feel the same about her.

“I think….” Leia tipped her face to Lyrena’s, her expression pained. “I think I hurt his feelings back there, Lyrena. Which means...goddess help me, but I have to apologize,” she said, and then winced. “I dread apologizing to him. He can be so…so....”

“Difficult?” Lyrena offered.

Leia gave a small huff of acknowledgement. “Yes. Insufferable.”

“Ah, Leia,” Lyrena laughed. ‘‘If you really did hurt him, he won’t be an ass about any apology you might offer. Go,” she said, giving the princess’ shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “Get it over with. You may be sorry, but I know you. You won’t be happy until you try to make it right.”


	5. Chapter Five

All Bets Are Off - Chapter Five

The cold air in the hangar nipped at Leia’s nose and deepened the pink of her cheeks as she purposefully made her way to the docking bay where the Millennium Falcon rested. 

Chewbacca was huffing about as he often did, tightening bolts along the vessel’s loading ramp, when he spied her approaching. The Wookiee, always unabashedly pleased to see her, warbled a greeting. 

“Hi, Chewie,” Leia returned the salutation warmly. “How have you been?”

Over the years they’d spent together, Leia had become much better at understanding Shyriiwook, and she and the giant Wookiee were able to enjoy considerably lengthier conversations without the assistance of either Han or C-3PO.

[I am glad you have returned safely, Little Princess. Cub does not sleep well when you are away. He is up at all hours banging on the ship and cursing. This Wookiee can get no rest.]

Caught off guard by that revelation and feeling more than a little disconcerted by its implications, Leia blinked in baffled silence for a moment. “Is...is he here?” she asked. 

[Yes. In the cockpit, updating maintenance logs.] Chewie’s bright blue eyes flicked up the ramp towards the cockpit. [I am sure he will be happy for your visit.]

Leia gave a rumpled smile. I’m not so sure about that, she thought, but thanked Chewbacca anyway. She paused as she stepped up onto the ramp, drew a steadying breath, and then ascended the corrugated slope and entered the ship. 

It was unusually warm inside the Falcon. Leia peeled off her gloves and tossed her puffy outer jacket onto the Dejarik table before making her way to the cockpit. As expected, she found Han seated in the captain’s chair, tufts of his tousled hair peeking up from the back of the seat. Leia paused for a moment, steeling herself for a potential nasty encounter with the irascible pilot, but she was determined to apologize for her part in their earlier altercation. Gathering her resolve, she spoke his name softly as she stepped into his space, hoping that her gentle tone would signal to him she wasn’t there to continue their argument. 

“Han.”

When he didn’t budge at all or turn his head, she realized that he was, at the very least, upset with her—if not truly angry. As she moved down the narrow aisle between the support stations, he remained motionless in his seat, right leg crossed over the left, with Chewie’s massive kaffe mug loosely held in his right hand. 

Halting directly beside the pilot’s chair, Leia looked down and saw to her surprise that his eyes were closed. She repeated his name a bit more loudly. “Han.”

Startled, the tall spacer’s eyes flew open and he jumped up from his seat, accidentally tossing the cooled-off contents of the oversized mug directly onto the Princess. The forgotten cup dropped to the deck plates and rolled away as he snatched his blaster from his hip. 

“Kriff, Your Worship!” The surprise in his voice was obvious as he blinked wide eyes, weapon still gripped in one unwavering hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Leia cried, retreating. Grimacing, she plucked the front of her uniform top away from her skin as the cold liquid penetrated the fabric.

He holstered his blaster. “You could get yourself blown away sneakin’ up on a guy like that!”

“I wasn’t sneaking. Were you actually asleep? I didn’t realize—”

“Shut my eyes for a minute. Damn, Leia, I almost let you have it!” Then, taking in the sight of her sopping wet clothes, his worried expression transformed into remorse, and then a rueful half-smile. “Well...guess I kinda did. Sorry about that, Princess.”

Leia couldn’t help but notice the dark circles beneath his golden-green eyes, and recognized the exhaustion in his voice. Was Chewie’s observation true? Obviously, Han hadn’t been sleeping well...but was it because of her?

“Well, if kaffe could kill…,” Leia began, only to be cut off as Han took her lightly by one damp arm and then pointed toward the corridor leading to the ship’s interior. 

“Too cold out there to be runnin’ around in wet gear,” he stated, nudging her in the direction of the cockpit door. “Go strip off in the fresher and I’ll run your stuff through the autovalet while you rinse off. Ain’t gonna find no fancy perfumed soap like they probably dish out on Pargaux, but at least you won’t be smellin’ like a kaffe house after.”

Leia flushed at the reference to their last unfriendly encounter. Refusing to be prodded any further, she shrugged out of his light grasp, planted her feet, and then placed a hand on his arm to ensure she had his full attention. 

“Han….about Pargaux...well, maybe not Pargaux, exactly, but....” She glanced down at the floor, then raised her eyes to meet his, determined to make her apology, no matter what his response might be. 

And he did look wary. She could feel his muscles stiffen under her touch as she mentioned their recent disagreement. Withdrawing her hand, she folded it with the other in a posture she dimly recognized might seem overly formal. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.   
“I’m….I want to apologize for my behavior earlier, Han. I’m sorry if it sounded as if I don’t appreciate your…attention regarding my safety, because I do. It’s just … well, if you could just ...”

A look of mild confusion crossed Han’s features as she spoke, but then his face relaxed into a wry smile as he realized she was attempting a sincere apology. He waved a hand to cut her off. 

“I know, I know—‘just don’t act like a nerf herder about it,’” His hazel eyes were soft as they met her gaze, and Leia felt her stomach flip. She had the distinct impression that there was more he wanted to say, but he bit the inside of his cheek instead, and then the moment was gone. He gave her another nudge in the direction of the fresher. “Go. We’ll talk when you’re done.”

Inside the small refresher a few minutes later, Leia allowed relief to wash over her. To her utter amazement, Han had taken her apology without gloating, teasing, or further argument. Feeling lighter than she had minutes before, she set about stripping off her uniform in preparation for the fresher.

Just how large is Chewie’s mug? she thought wryly as she peeled off her wet clothing, realizing then that she was soaked all the way through to the new, pale-blue lingerie that she had donned that morning, before leaving Parguax.

Oh gods, she thought, pondering over her next move. Should she hand these over to Han to add to the autovalet or hold on to them? If she didn’t include them, would he think she ran around the base commando-style? Would he even notice them in the mix or if they were missing?   
Of course, he would. It was Han. He would notice. 

Why do I care if he sees my underwear when I’m not wearing them? she rationalized. They are just clothes...everyone wears them. 

Having made her decision, she began divesting herself of the delicate, lace-trimmed garments. As she tossed them in the pile at her feet, she spared a moment to say a silent prayer of thanks to the fates. If it had to happen, she was grateful that it was while she was wearing something pretty, instead of the washed-out, greying Alliance-issue garments she usually wore.

Fleetingly, her more rational self raised the question of why such a thing should even matter, but she swiftly batted it aside, not wishing to examine those thoughts just yet. Despite her best efforts, though, her mind strayed back to that moment in the hangar when she and Han had exchanged heated words about his overprotective attitude. Standing there, glaring at her with his face all creased with worry and frustration, he had let something slip—a darkly muttered comment that seemed to fall out his mouth without his permission; an admission that Leia found deeply surprising—and, she had to admit to herself now—rather exciting. 

Han’s voice shook her from her musings. “What’s the hold up, Sweetheart? Toss me your duds so I can run the valet.” She heard him give an audible, exaggerated yawn through the fresher door. “I really need a nap,” he muttered to himself.

With a resigned sigh, Leia wrapped herself in a ragged towel, gathered her things and opened the door. Hurriedly pushing all of her damp clothing into the captain’s waiting arms, she swiftly palmed the door closed again and turned her back to it. She resolved not to think any more about what he’d said—or what it meant. She was covered in sticky kaffe, and needed to focus on tidying herself up. 

Standing in the narrow shower unit a moment later, Leia was careful not to wet her hair as she rinsed the kaffe off herself. At least Han’s tossed drink hadn’t landed above her shoulders, she mused. She was going to be running late enough to her debriefing as it was without having to deal with her hair. After swiftly sluicing the sticky substance from her skin, she powered on the hot air dryers fixed inside the shower space. To her dismay, she found the forced air they blew was far from hot and the fans made an almighty racket, so she quickly turned them off again and groped instead for the worn towel that she’d draped on a hook outside the shower enclosure. She was intent on quickly drying herself off, retrieving her clothes, and getting on with her day. Having carefully wrapped the coarse material around her body to preserve her modesty, she was just reaching for the fresher door when a loud clanging noise and the sound of Chewbacca’s irritated growl filtered through the panel to her ears.

[Cub! Stop banging on that machine!]

Leia backed a step away from the door, but then on impulse palmed it open a crack to better hear what the fuss was about. She had no desire to walk into another potential catastrophe, courtesy of Han Solo.

“This is all I need,” she heard Han lament. “Kriffin’ autovalet seized up in the middle of the cycle…her kriffin’ clothes are still wet…she’s gonna be pissed and blame me for it. Son of a Sith....” She heard the metal-on-metal sound of something—a tool, most likely—as it hit the deck floor, followed almost immediately by a yelp of pain. 

[Good thing you have two shins], Chewie barked back at his human friend. [Throwing tools around isn’t going to fix it. You are too tired to be working on this. You are just making it worse.]

“You got that right, pal,” Han said with a sigh. “I’m just makin’ it worse. Things were goin’ okay and I had to go and fuck it up…again.”

[Little Princess will not fault you for this, Cub. You did not break the machine to vex her.] Leia heard a guff of Wookiee laughter, and then Chewie added, [Unlike some of your behavior in the past....]

Leia inched forward, glued to the tiny gap in the door, intently listening to the space duo’s conversation about her. The fluttering in her stomach intensified as the implications of Han’s plaintive comments hit home. 

“Hells, Chewie, back then I was just tryin’ to get her attention. Now….” 

[Now you care deeply for her], Chewie said in a low growl.

Leia held her breath, waiting for Han’s response. She didn’t have to wait long before a deep, exhausted sigh reached her ears. “Yeah.”

Leia’s eyes widened, and she felt her knees wobble beneath her. She staggered back a step and gripped the durasteel sink for support, for fear her legs might give out entirely. 

So he does have feelings for me.

At first, her mind raced as she grappled with the newfound realization, instantly connecting it to the muttered admission he’d let drop during their confrontation in the hangar. As the import of Han’s words, then and now, settled within her, she felt a strangely calming wave of clarity.   
Every once in a while you get one who wants to help you because they want to do something nice for you, Lyrena had said. Not because they think you need it. Because they care.

Like a loose bearing sliding smoothly into place, it clicked—and suddenly, so many things made sense. It was his feelings for her that drove his actions, including his often-annoying tendency to treat her like some delicate thing that needed protection. He needed to know she was safe, not because she needed protecting—but, in a way, because he did. 

“I don’t know how to do this, pal,” Han said in a tone of such heavy despair it made Leia’s chest feel tight. 

Instead of spouting one of his usual blustery retorts or roundly scoffing at Chewie’s suggestion, he sounded almost...vulnerable. Leia pressed her lips together and drew a deep, calming breath through her nose as she tried to attach meaning to his words. 

[You are a good man, Cub, and the little princess is no fool], Chewie replied. [Go to your bunk now. You need sleep. Things will seem better after you rest. I will fix this]. 

“Can’t do it, Chewie. Gotta get her clothes….” 

[I said that I would take care of this]. Chewie’s deep rumble brooked no argument. [I will comm the droid to bring her fresh clothing. Give me your shirt. The Little Princess can wear it while she waits].

Han’s reply was faint, and muffled by Chewie’s wry Wookiee snort. [None of this would be required if humans had fur].

“Here,” Han said. “And Chewie, don’t tell her—.”

[I will tell her nothing], Chewie said firmly. [You will tell her yourself, when the time is right. Now, go, Cub! Even you are not able to make things worse while you are sleeping.]


	6. Chapter 6

“Oh look, there he is now. Hey, Threepio,” Janson called. “Tech droids all set to hang the holoscreen for tomorrow night?” 

Wedge looked up to see C-3PO scurrying through the hangar as quickly as his gold-jointed legs would allow, a flat parcel cradled in his stiff metallic grasp. Wedge watched as the droid turned his unwavering gaze to him and Wes, but didn’t slow his pace.

“Yes, yes. It is all arranged according to the plan you provided,” Threepio declared as the two Rogues fell into step with him. "Now, if you please, sirs, I must deliver Princess Leia’s clothing to her on the Millennium Falcon. She will be late for a meeting because of the impossible behavior of Captain Solo and his dysfunctional equipment.”

Wes snorted a laugh as they walked along. “I bet Han wouldn’t like to hear you call his equipment dysfunctional.” 

Wedge snickered. “What happened, Threepio?” he asked, and then added with feigned sincerity, “Can we help?” He wanted to give the droid the impression they cared, and not that they simply wanted to know why Leia needed clothes brought to the Falcon, and what “dysfunction” was the cause. 

“Thank you, Commander Antilles, for your generous offer of assistance. But I believe I am quite capable of fulfilling this task.” He gave his best droid version of a scoff. “If Captain Solo had not fallen asleep before he attended to the Princess’ needs, this assignment would not have been required.”

“Never figured Solo for a guy who couldn’t take care of the Princess’ needs,” Wes hooted.

Wedge held back a chuff of laughter. “And why does the Princess need a change of clothes?” he managed in an even tone. 

“Because of Captain Solo,” Threepio intoned, his disdain for the Corellian evident in his emphasis on Han’s name. “Somehow, he managed to soil Her Highness’ garments, and then failed to restore them properly, because his ship’s autovalet proved to be as faulty as the rest of his haphazardly engineered vessel! The Princess was forced to shower aboard his ancient starship to remove the evidence of her unfortunate experience, and she was unaware that her clothing remained befouled. Now, she requires a full complement of fresh clothing. And what is Captain Solo doing? Why, he is slumbering!” Threepio shook his stiffly-jointed head as he walked, servomotors whirring. “Impossible man. And, of course, I am called upon to save the day once more.” 

As he finished his tirade, the trio arrived at the Falcon. The droid uttered a farewell to the Rogues as he scurried up the boarding ramp.

“Huh.” Wes gave a grunt as he and Wedge turned and strolled back across the hangar to their ships. “There’s a story there, friend.” 

“I’ll bet,” Wedge acknowledged. “But probably not what your depraved mind is thinking.” 

Still, Wedge was curious. He mulled over what it could be, his brain whirring with scenarios ranging from the plausible to the unlikely, and then gave up. It was pointless trying to figure it out on his own, and there was no need for that—not when there was someone who could always be counted on to get the straight scoop.

He parted ways with Janson in the Rogue’s section of the hangar, and as the Tanaaban trotted off toward his ship, Wedge pulled his comlink from his pocket and hailed Luke.


	7. Chapter 7

It was nearing 1700 hours when Wedge, with Luke close on his heels, bounded up the ramp and into the aged YT-1300 freighter.  


“Han…you here?” Luke called out at the top of the ramp.

“Galley,” they heard Solo reply, his distant voice sounding somewhat rough around the edges.

Wedge led the way to the galley, and found the barefoot, shirtless Corellian rubbing his eyes and peering into a steaming cup of kaffe. The pilot’s rumpled, thread-bare sleep pants, wild hair and bleary eyes were dead giveaways that he had only just dragged himself out of his bunk.

“Damn, Luke!” Wedge laughed. “We need to muster out so we can spend the day snoozing, too.”

Han flipped his fellow Corellian a rude gesture, but his lack of a smart verbal comeback provided further proof they had caught the smuggler before his kaffe had kicked in. 

“So I took a nap,” he shrugged. “Been up a few nights straight, workin’ on some maintenance issues.”

“Yeah, we heard you had some sort of ‘dysfunction’,” Wedge teased. 

The tired spacer responded with a quizzical glance and a shake of his shaggy head. “Headin’ out in the mornin’ to round up snacks for your little holo party,” he yawned. “Wanted to be sure the Falcon was ready for the trip.”

“Han?”

All three men turned when they heard Leia Organa’s voice calling from the ring corridor, and all three replied in unison. “Galley.”

Han tipped his mug toward Leia as she joined the group. “Kaffe?” he asked.

“Thank you, no,” she smiled. “We both know I’ve had quite enough kaffe for one day. I just came to give you this.” Leia handed a folded garment to the Corellian. 

Han took the item from her with a grin. “I was lookin’ for that!” he chimed, and then tugged the shirt over his head. 

Wedge slanted a quizzical glance at his companion. Luke shrugged, and then turned his gaze back to watch the interaction between the spacer and the princess.

“I had it laundered,” Leia explained, “since your autovalet isn’t functioning,”

“Oh, a dysfunctional autovalet,” Wedge grinned. 

Han gave Wedge a sidelong glance. “You just learn a new word, Antilles?” he asked. “And besides, it’s fixed now. Your stuff’s fresh as gingerbells, Your Worship. Chewie put ‘em someplace, and—.”

As if on cue, Chewie lumbered into the galley. As he approached, he held up a shaggy paw, with a silky pale blue scrap of fabric dangling from one claw.

[This was the problem], he warbled, [The slight fabric was caught in the rinse rotor].

Wedge stepped closer to the Wookiee to peer at the ragged remains. No, his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him; that was definitely a pair of women’s—.

Before Wedge could inspect any further, Leia snatched the scrap of ruined silk. Her face flushing a bright shade of pink, she averted her eyes and quickly stuffed the garment into her pocket. “I’m so sorry, Chewie.”

“Huh,” Han said, his tone matter-of-fact. “Blue, eh? Always pictured you in white.”

Leia’s head shot up, eyes wide, and then her gaze narrowed on the Corellian in a glare, her blush darkening to a deeper shade. “Pictured me?” she snapped. 

Stifling a snort, Wedge shot another glance at Luke. He could tell that the young pilot was holding back his laughter, too, and waiting for the inevitable tirade to follow.

“You’re always wearing white!” Han said defensively. “At least, on the outside. I just assumed….”

“Assumed what, exactly?” Leia challenged.

“Whaddya want me to say?” Han returned defensively. “That I pictured you in red?” Then he gave her a wink and a crooked grin. “I bet you’d look great in red, Sweetheart.”

“This is not a discussion I wish to have with you!” Clearly flustered, Leia glanced around at Luke, Wedge and Chewie. “Or anyone else.”

“Sorry, Sweetheart. Tell you what. I’ll buy ya a new pair.” He reached out and tugged at the silken material where it peeked out of her pocket, and then snatched his hand back with a yelp when she swatted it. “Hey!” he blurted. “I gotta know what I’m replacing!”

Always suspected Solo wanted to get his hands on Leia’s undies, Wedge thought, and then bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

Regaining her composure, the Princess drew herself up to her full height and then fixed Solo with a glare. “That will not be necessary, thank you,” she replied, and then turned to Chewie. “I’ll take the rest of my things now, please, and be on my way.” 

[They are on the Dejarik table, cleaned and folded], Chewbacca warbled. He turned and started off toward the lounge, and motioned for Leia to follow. [Come, I will show you]. 

“Princess, hold up.” Wedge interjected. “We’re looking for volunteers to man the concession stands for tomorrow’s holo show. You want to help out?”

“Of course, Wedge,” Leia replied sweetly. “And Captain Solo will help, too.” 

“Hold on,” Han contested. “I didn’t….”

Wedge watched as Leia glanced at Han, a playful sparkle in her eye. “You want to repay me for my damaged goods, Flyboy? That’s the price.”

“Fair enough, Princess,” Han replied, rubbing at the stubble on his cheek as he watched her walk away. "Fair enough."


	8. Chapter 8

“Hey, Vitrk!” 

At the sound of her name, Lyrena popped her curly head up from the cockpit of her X-wing, and she waved a greeting to the tall Corellian as he approached the Green Squadron’s landing pad area.

“What’s up, Solo?”

“Me and Chewie are headin’ out to grab snacks for tonight’s show,” Han said. “Anything special your crew’s cravin’?”

Touvi, standing a half-meter away, overheard Han’s query and was quick to offer her opinion. “Be super if you could bring back some Choco Mint Drops,” she said. “They are scrumptious mixed in with hot popped oats!”

Han’s nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you tried it!” Evie exclaimed, and then sauntered away towards Synja’s vessel to continue her data pad distribution.

“I’ll look for ‘em,” Han called after her as he rolled his eyes. Turning back to Lyrena, he said, “Anything else, Lyr?”

“I’m good with anything you can rustle up,” Lyrena shrugged before popping her head back into the cockpit to continue her adjustments. She could sense Solo lingering, though, and looked back down.

“Is there something else?” she queried. 

She thought the freighter pilot looked a tad sheepish as he shuffled his booted feet. 

“Uhh,” was his non-reply.

Lyrena cocked her head quizzically at the Corellian, noting how his eyes made a quick scan of the area around them. He looked decidedly shifty. 

“Uhh,” he began again. 

“Yeah, you said that. What’s up?” she said as she dropped from the cockpit ladder to the tarmac. 

Han gave her a slightly frazzled look. “Could use some, uh, intel.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair, and arched one hopeful brow.

“Okay.” She had to bite her tongue to hold back a laugh. She never saw the usually confident Solo so unsure of himself. 

Han peered around the area again, seeming intent on confirming that no one was in earshot. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Thought you might know what size Her Highness wears. Kinda ruined some of her clothes on the Falcon, and I wanna replace ‘em.”

Ahh, Lyrena thought, suppressing a smile. So this is about Leia. Tamping down on the impulse to laugh, she replied in a detached tone. “Just head down to the quartermaster. They have a record of everybody’s size and can get you what you need,” she shrugged.

Lyrena thought she actually saw Solo’s face flush then, and he ran his hand absently through his hair once more. 

“Wasn’t Alliance issue stuff,” he muttered. “And I’d rather keep this on the down-low.” 

He looked downright discombobulated, and she had to admit she got a kick out of seeing the normally unflappable Corellian look so flustered. 

“Oh, a covert ops, is it?” Lyrena said, and then crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Out with it, Solo. I got work to do.”

“Heard you and the Princess went shoppin’ in Pargaux,” Han continued, and then nervously cleared his throat.

“Sure did.” Lyrena smiled. That explained why Solo was so antsy—the only items of clothing Leia had purchased on Pargaux were of the more intimate variety. Still, it didn’t explain how Solo had come to be in this predicament in the first place. 

“And you...ruined one of these items?” she ventured. 

“Yeah. Um, kinda ripped….” 

Lyrena did a double take of startled surprise, and it stopped Han short. 

“No, no,” he almost shouted. “I mean, not me. The Falcon’s autovalet chewed up...ah, hell.” He threw his hands up, an unmistakable look of awkward embarrassment on his face. “It’s a long story,” he sighed. “Let’s just say, I don’t think it was cheap, the thing that was ruined, and I wanna replace it.”

Lyrena almost felt sorry for him. “I think I can help. First, was it top or bottom?”

Han’s worried look turned into relief. “Um, bottom.”

“Color?”

“Blue.”

“Oh, that was a gorgeous set,” Lyrena eyes closed in memory. “It had the tiniest little Jorallan pearls….”

Her reminiscence was cut short by Solo’s quick, “Didn’t get a good look at ‘em, Lyr.”

“Of course,” she said in a mollifying tone. “Well, the bad news is, you’ll never get a pair to match the top without going to the shop in Pargaux.”

“Ain’t got time for that.” Han’s eyes were still nervously flicking around the hangar to be sure that no one else was listening to their conversation. 

“I suppose not,” she agreed. “So, you could get a complete new set. That would be nicer.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. So….size?” His face contorted in question.

“Well, bottoms for humanoids usually come in extra small, small, medium, large, extra—.”

“Yeah, yeah, so…. small?”

“Yes, I think so. Tops are different, though, unless you get a camisole. Then, I’d go small if the fabric has stretch, or medium if it doesn’t, because the Princess is pretty well-endowed for her size.”

Lyrena could swear she saw Han’s face change color as she continued, “If you get a regular bra, I think she bought a 32C. Yeah, I’m sure of it, ‘cause Synja said they wore the same size. And she probably needs something with firm support, but not the kind with—.” 

Solo hadn’t said a word, but his eyes had definitely glazed over as she expounded on the subject. Clearly, men’s choices in terms of undergarments were much less complicated, Lyrena smirked to herself. Reading Solo’s body language and facial expression, she laughed a little under her breath. He’s got it so bad, she mused to herself.

“You can do this,” she said aloud. Nodding in affirmation, she touched his sleeve in a reassuring manner. “And I know she’ll appreciate the gesture.”

Solo offered a tight smile. “Thanks,” he said, and then headed off toward his waiting freighter. He swiveled around after a few paces, pointing a long finger at the female commander, “This stays between us, got it?”

Lyrena gestured a zipped lip and the flick of an imaginary key. Han responded with a crooked smile and a casual salute, and then set off on his original trajectory toward the Millennium Falcon. 

“Fixed your comm’s volume control,” Touvi smiled as she once again approached Lyrena’s position, and tossed the communicator to her Commander. Startled, Lyrena reacted just in time to catch the small device. She had been adrift in her own thoughts, contemplating her conversation with the Corellian spacer. 

“That seemed like it was about more than just snacks,” Touvi observed, indicating the departing Solo with a jerk of her head.

“Not really,” Lyrena shrugged, toying with the comm’ volume control. “Hey, great job with this thing, Evie. Good as new.” 

Visibly pleased with the compliment, Touvi smiled brightly as she turned to leave.

“Hey, Touvs?” 

Evie swiveled around on her bootheel and give her commander a questioning look. 

“You ever place a bet in one of Janson’s crazy pools?”

The slender communications specialist’s face scrunched in distaste. “I don’t speak with that asshole unless it’s a direct order from High Command.”

Lyrena laughed. “He’s an ass, alright, but he doesn’t really mean any harm. I’ll be back in a bit. Gonna wander over to ‘Rogue world.’” 

My girls and I might be doing some future shopping courtesy of a well-placed wager, Lyrena mused as she purposefully sought out Wes Janson.


	9. Chapter 9

The hangar was abuzz with activity preparing for the holo event. Droids were hanging a makeshift screen from the icy ceiling, and a mishmash of chairs, scrounged from all over the base, were being set up theatre-style. Cases of beverages—ranging from soft drinks to alien liquors strong enough to set a Gundark on its ass—had been dredged up from private stashes for donation to the cause.

Princess Leia was standing precariously atop a wobbly stool on the hangar floor, stretching to affix a 'Snacks & Drinks' sign on the wall above the table where she and Han would be doling out said treats. She turned upon hearing the beat of Han’s boots striding toward her from behind.

“Whoa, Your Worship,” he called to her. “Whatcha doin’ up there?” He plunked two cases of geezer ale onto the table and gazed up at her. The stool provided her a few centimeters height advantage over him, and for once, she was peering down to view him.

“Your job,” Leia teased. “You are late.”

“Had to shift some stuff around the hold to dig out my personal contribution to this soiree,” Han replied, indicating the bottle-filled boxes with a jab of his thumb. 

As Leia twisted to peek, the stool rocked beneath her and she began to tip, her footing lost. Han lunged, grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight against him. Leia clutched at him in reflex, bringing their bodies flush, and for an instant she clung to his neck as she slid down his chest until her feet reached the floor. 

Rattled by her potential fall, Leia stammered a quick thank you. Her arms remained draped around Han’s neck as her nerves settled.

“Hey, Wedge,” Hobbie sniggered as he set up chairs nearby, “Check out Solo and the Princess.”

Wedge glanced over to the embraced pair. “Seems like Han has finally got her where he wants her.” 

“Yeah, but does she want to be there,” Hobbie snorted.

“Scared yourself, Sweetheart?” Han asked. “Air’s thinner up there,” he quipped as his eyes flicked above her head, “Small things like you ain’t used to the altitude.” 

“Ah, so that explains why your mind doesn’t always function properly. Lack of oxygen,” Leia shot back.

Han countered in her ear with a hushed, “Hard to catch my breath around you, Princess.”

“You are so full of hot air,” Leia responded, keeping her tone light. “Now, put me down and get to work.”

“Uh, you ARE down.” Han’s eyes flicked down to her booted feet which were now planted on the tarmac.

“Oh!” Embarrassed, she pushed off him with her hands on his chest and stepped backward. 

“Quit messing around, you two!” Luke’s voice bellowed as he dragged another table to serve as the back bar of their slapped-together concession stand. “Holo starts in an hour.”

“Take it easy, kid. It’ll get done. Sheesh. Give a guy a commander title and he starts pullin’ rank on his old pals.”

Leia turned, and was placing the stool back in position to again work to affix the sign above the serving table when she felt Han’s warm hands once again wrap around her waist.

“Nope, Your Worship. Not again. You don’t touch anything that’s more than four feet off the ground.” He gently pulled her away from the stool, and then released her and quickly finished the task. His long reach made easy work of the job, no assistance required.

He’s doing it again, Leia mused. But instead of calling him out for his over-protective action, she scrunched her nose and gave him an exaggerated pout. “Show off!”

“Not showin’ off, Sweetheart. Can’t help that my incredible Corellian genes allow me to rise above the rest.”

“What’s that about Corellian genes?” Wedge queried, coming toward them, his arms filled with an enormous bag of popped oat snacks. “Of course, they are superior,” he nodded proudly to Leia. 

The Princess rolled her eyes. “And create such humility in their beings!”

“No bragging here. Just fact, Princess,” Wedge chirped as he placed his burden on the serving table. “You two good here?” He didn’t wait for their reply. “Gotta stock four more spots,” he said as he moved on. “Remember, new volunteers take over when the flick ends to handle the second-shifters. You guys are free to join the audience then.” 

Leia wiped her hands on her trousers, giving their work station a quick once-over. “Everything seems set so I’m going to get cleaned up. See you when our shift starts, Flyboy.” 

“Later, Princess,” Han facetiously bowed to her. She rolled her eyes, and then wound her way through the “holo theatre” toward her near-by quarters.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holo time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shout out to the great Erin Darroch and Justine Graham for their amazing editing skills that put a shine on this work.

In advance of the show, the hanger was bustling with activity. Alliance personnel were streaming into the makeshift theatre, grabbing snacks at the nearest concession stand before settling down to watch the holo. 

Leia and Han found themselves very busy. The princess took charge of filling orders for bags of popped oats or candy while Solo busied himself pouring wine, soft drinks and ale. Things slowed down considerably after the holo started, allowing the twosome time to chat while catching bits of the show.

“You see this one before?” Han asked, glancing up at the scene flickering across the make-do holoscreen.

“I think everyone’s seen this one more than once.”

“Prob'bly. ‘Member where you were the first time?"  
  
Leia closed her eyes, envisioning the evening she had watched it on the holovision in her family’s cozy private quarters within the palace on Alderaan. She was ten years old, curled up next to her mother on the plush sofa. She had fallen asleep before the end and recalled waking up in her bed the next morning, wondering if the very good-looking, do-gooder hero had escaped from the evil antagonists to win the day. She ran to her parents’ bedroom, anxious to learn the outcome. Of course, he did, her mother had reassured her. The good guys always do.

If only that were so, Leia wished before responding to Han’s seemingly innocuous question. “Yes,” she answered wistfully. “I remember.”

“Sweetheart,” Han spoke soothingly, internally wanted to kick himself for inadvertently raising a potentially melancholy memory, gently running a hand along her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to bring up…”

“No, no,” she shuddered a bit, then righted herself. “It’s okay. It was a sweet memory. Never did see the ending.”

“Well, that can change right now,” Han stated warmly, pointing at the screen. “It’s almost over. C’mere,” he was sitting on the nearly empty table that served as the back bar. He tilted his head while patting the space next to him.

With a rumpled smile, Leia scooted up to sit beside him.

They watched in silence for a time, then Han took her hand. “Scary part comin’ up,” he whispered.

“Who says I’m afraid?” she smartly retorted, although she did not release his hand.

“Who says I’m talkin’ about you?” 

With that she laughed, and squeezed his hand, his long fingers then laced with hers. They were comfortable together, watching and listening in the darkened space as the action on screen was winding down to the conclusion.

Suddenly, a crackling noise and a few sparks escaped the speaker that supplied the soundtrack into the concession area. They could see the holo but no longer hear it.

“So much for catching the ending,” Leia pointed at the lightly buzzing electronic device.

“Don’t need sound, Sweetheart. I can read lips.”

Leia raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, really?” 

Han leaned in closer to her. She felt his breath caress her neck as he whispered his reply into her ear.

“Mmm-huh. ‘M good at it.” 

“And just how did you come to acquire this particular skill?” She found herself pitching closer into his warmth.

“Years of study.” His voice was low. “Want me to translate?” He settled back against the wall, pulling her with him, one arm draped across her narrow shoulders, free hand pointing at the holo.

“By all means.”

On the screen, a voluptuous red-headed woman was seductively pressing her body against the hero’s muscular form, their lips centimeters apart.

“She just told him… ahhhh…can’t repeat it.” Han shook his head and playfully covered her ears with his hands. “Not suitable for a princess’ delicate ears.” 

Leia playfully swatted him away, but grasped on to one of his hands.

“I don’t think I need the words to get the underlying message,” she said with a raised brow.

“No, no, no….wait….,” Han nudged his head up toward the screen, “he’s tellin’ her he ain’t interested. Says he prefers short, dark-haired women with smart mouths who know how to take care of themselves.” He leaned in closer and closer, until his forehead touched hers.

“Hmmm. His lips didn’t move enough to form all those words.”

“Translatin’s like that sometimes, Your Worship.” Han’s cheek rubbed gently against hers and he inhaled the fragrance of her perfumed hair. “Easier sometimes just to feel it.” He gently placed a fingertip on her lower lip and breathed “Say somethin’,” into the shell of her ear.

Her breath caught as her lips silently formed his name.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Sweetheart. Must be out of practice. Maybe if we try this….” His warm lips gently landed on hers and, without moving his lips from hers, he mumbled, “try again”

Their bodies, now wrapped together from the waist up, mimicked the actors on screen. “Oh, shut up and kiss me,” Leia laughed.

Han pointed back at the holoscreen, “That’s just what she said…” but Leia cut him off as she pulled him back to engage in a deeper kiss.

Coming up for air, Han breathed, “Ya’ know, there are four sequels to this,” he nudged his head in the direction of the screen. “Prob’bly should watch ‘em to....”

“Continue our lip reading lessons?” 

“That’s just what I was thinkin’!” 

The credits were rolling as the two remained in their warm embrace, necking like teenagers hidden in the darkness of an actual holotheatre.

Their romantic reverie was broken by the loud plunk of a case of Sullustanian beer onto the serving table. The duo pulled away from each other, and sheepishly blinked at Wedge who was aligning bottles onto the tabletop while pretending not to have noticed their very personal interaction. 

“You guys are off the clock,” the Rogue said nonchalantly. “Can catch the second screening.” Then, as quickly as he had turned up, Antilles left them, smiling broadly as he deposited refills to the other snack locations around the hangar’s perimeter.

Han turned to the Princess, and she could see the hope reflected in his golden-green eyes. “Falcon?” 

Leia peered out at the crowd of Rebels congregating in the hangar. Some were sure to notice the two of them heading to his nearby ship. “Too close.” She could feel him deflate at the seeming rejection. 

With an assured smile and a touch to his shoulder, the princess peered into his eyes. “My place.” 

His face lit up, a smile curling his lips. 

“Give me a ten-minute head start.”

“As you command, Your Worship.” 

Leia returned his smile, called her ‘good night’ to Wedge who had returned with replacement volunteers, and made her way through the audience.

Wedge watched the Princess depart, and ambled back to where Han sat, alone, in the darkened concession area. “Princess not staying for the second show?” he questioned as he restocked the cooler there with bottles of beer and wine.

“Said she’s seen it,” Han replied with an indifferent shrug. “Think I’ll track down the Wook and watch.”He pulled a bottle of sparkling Coruscanti wine from the ice bin. “Wages,” he nodded to Wedge, then wandered off into the throng of holo viewers.

Antilles hopped onto the back bar, settling himself against the wall where the Princess and the Captain had been lounging. He observed Solo weave a path through the gathered Rebels, chatting briefly with second-shifters, occasionally checking his wrist chrono. Wedge noted with interest that, instead of going to the Falcon to seek out his co-pilot, Han disappeared down the narrow hallway that led to the private quarters of members of the High Command. 

“’Bout time,” Wedge muttered to himself as he heaved himself off the table to carry on with his tasks.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Han Solo’s ever-observant eyes scanned the corridor before tapping twice on the door to Leia Organa’s assigned room. 

“It’s unlocked,” came a muffled voice, filtered from behind the heavy hatch. Han pressed his hand on the access pad which allowed the door to open with a muted whoosh. 

Leia’s dulcet voice again sang out, “Fresher. Out in a minute.” 

Han’s eyes had to adjust from the bright hallway to the dusky low light of Leia’s modest private space. He placed the bottle on the small desktop and shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the cabin’s lone chair. There, atop her neatly organized desk, was the box he had earlier entrusted to Threepio to deliver to her room while he and she worked during the holo screening. She had obviously discovered it—the lid was off, and the finely textured tissue that had protected the contents was pushed aside to reveal a now-empty box. 

Han inhaled, a hopeful smile on his face as the fresher door clicked open. 

His heart sank upon seeing that Leia was wrapped up in a long, thick robe. Her change of attire suggested that she had had a change of heart—it seemed as though she was preparing to turn in for the night.

The Corellian fumbled to collect his coat with one hand and hastily pick up the bottle of wine with the other, attempting to disguise his presumption. “Thought you might like a nightcap,” he stammered. “Help ya sleep.” 

Leia blinked, and for an instant Han thought he could see a flash of confusion in her deep brown eyes. “That would be lovely,” she replied, and then moved past him to open a cabinet and retrieved a pair of wine flutes. 

Han watched as she set the mismatched stemware atop the desk, and then turned, clutching at the collar of her robe. Her brow was furrowed, and was that disappointment he saw when she tipped her face to his? His heart soared - perhaps she was as eager to continue their translating lesson as he?

Only one way to find out, Han thought, and snagged the bottle from atop the desk. Leia’s eyes were glued to his hands as he expertly opened the bottle then poured the golden liquid. He passed the first filled glass to her, and then filled the other for himself. 

“Here’s to translatin’,” he said as he tilted his wine to her in a toast. 

Holding his gaze, a slow smile spread across Leia’s face and she lifted her glass in return. “To translating.” They clinked their glasses then, and each took a sip.

“Oh!” Leia broke the charged silence with a start. “I meant to say something when you arrived. Thank you,” she gestured toward the box, “for the beautiful gift. You didn’t need to do that, Han.”

“Gift? More like a replacement. Felt bad about what happened with the autovalet. Was nothin’.” He gave what hoped was a casual shrug, but was inwardly delighted that his selection had met her approval. With Leia, he never knew what her reaction might be. But, judging by her response, Han was feeling hopeful that he may have, for once, done something pretty good. 

“Well, it wasn’t necessary and is far from nothing. They are….beautiful. Simply elegant.” She flashed him a wry smile. “You have good taste, Flyboy.”

“In women,” he winked at her playfully, hoping to quell the slight awkwardness between them with a fallback into banter-style interaction.

“Smooooth, Captain,” Leia chortled lightly. “Lip reading can’t possibly convey that smarmy glibness,” she teased.

“Not smarmy!” Han poked back. “True.”

‘‘Perhaps I need more lessons to grasp the subtleties of your Corellian drawl.” She lifted the wine to her lips, and then lowered her eyes as she managed a small sip. Han watched, transfixed, as the tip of her tongue floated across her bottom lip, clearly savoring the delectable vintage. Then, raising her chin, she gazed up at him through her heavy lashes. 

Han cleared his throat as he set his wine down on the desktop. “You up for that, Sweetheart?” he asked, reaching out to brush one hand lightly against the sleeve of her velvety robe. “I...figured you were done for the night.” 

Like the effervescent wine in her glass, Leia’s eyes sparkled as she coyly replied, “I’m up for it, Captain.”

With a nod, Han plucked the drink from her hand and placed it on the desktop next to his. “Okay, then,” he bent down to whisper in her ear. “Lesson Two.” 

Lightly grasping her shoulders, he tugged her closer to him. He lifted one hand to rest briefly on her cheek, and then allowed it to glide gently from her earlobe to her neck, running beneath her chin and finally coming to rest on her shoulder once more as he bent down towards her. “Throat movement reveals a lot,” he sighed against her neck. “But, as we learned in Lesson One, lips can pick up on so much more.” 

Unable to resist any longer, Han pressed his lips to her creamy skin, moving across her delicate throat in slow, soft kisses. 

Leia angled her head, providing more powder-soft skin for Han’s mouth and fingertips to explore. “I, I think I’d like to try that myself,” she breathed.

“Talkin’ like an ace student,” Han laughed, and then drew in a ragged breath as Leia tugged back his shirt collar. Stretching up on tiptoe, she repeated the steps he had taken with her, administering feather-light brushes of her fingers mixed with the smooth movement of her lips against the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Leia.” Her name tumbled from him before their mouths met in exquisite delight. The passion between them, so long repressed, overflowed. Coming up for air, Leia took Han’s hand and timidly pulled him toward her bunk.

“Sweetheart?” he tenderly questioned. 

Leia’s kiss-swollen lips mouthed the word — yes. 

Han gazed at her a moment, in awe of the beautiful young woman who was about to fulfil his most fervent dream. But even in dreams, he could have never anticipated her next move. 

The dark-haired beauty uncinched the belt of her robe, and slowly slipped her arms from its flowing sleeves. The garment dropped, cascading into a billowy puddle at her feet, revealing to her soon-to-be lover that she was dressed in the beautiful lingerie he had chosen for her. White satin straps held the shimmersilk bra against her narrow shoulders, matching the hip and hemline trim along the shorts-style bottoms. She was radiant, and the shimmersilk fabric only enhanced the glow of her porcelain skin. 

“Leia,” was all Han could manage to say as his eyes took her in. She looked, he thought, like an angel from the old Corellian myths. “You are kriffin’ gorgeous.”

She beamed up at him. “I’ve heard you’ve always pictured me in white.”


	12. Chapter 12

The hangar was quiet at the pre-dawn hour when Han Solo was ambling back to his ship. A few over-flowing trash cans, a scattering of folding chairs, and the now empty concession stands were the only remaining evidence of the previous night’s event that had been held there. 

Han was pleased that, as he expected, no one seemed to be out and about. That was the reason he had reluctantly left Leia’s side at this early hour. No need to set tongues wagging. The Princess—his Princess, he mused, the thought bringing a happy smile to his face —would not appreciate that.

He walked on, reliving the wonders of the past night swept up in the arms of Leia Organa. His usual swaggering demeanor was replaced by a contented, happy stride, and he couldn't stop smiling as he neared the ramp to his ship.

“Whatcha doing up so early, Solo?” 

Startled out of his reverie by the sound of Wes Janson’s familiar voice, he looked up. Approaching him was a group of Rogues and Green Squadron personnel led by Wes, Wedge and Lyrena Vitrk. 

“Could ask you the same,” he countered with a lop-sided grin. “Figured you’d be bunked out ‘til noon.”

“No rest for the event crew,” Lyrena sighed. “Have to have this place back in order by 0800 or Rieekan will have our asses.”

At the mention of time, Solo instinctively glanced at his chrono only to be met with his bare wrist. The chrono that, he realized, was now ticking away on Leia’s nightstand.

“I take it you aren’t here to help us clean up,” Janson said, a curious twinkle in his eye. 

Han’s mind whirled for a moment, before it seized upon the most convenient and logical excuse. “Nah, lookin’ for my chrono,” he said, and held up his bare wrist. “Thought I left it in the concession stand, but no luck. Lemme know if you find it.” 

With that, he ascended the ramp and disappeared into the heart of the Millennium Falcon.

XXX 

Ninety-minutes later, their work complete, the clean-up crew was gathered for breakfast in the Mess. Groups of Rebels made their way to the event planners’ table to offer kudos and thanks for the previous evening's diversion from the drudgery of military life on a remote station. 

Han Solo appeared among the well-wishers. “Gotta admit, you pulled it off in style, Wes,” he lifted his kaffe cup in salute to Janson. “This crowd hasn’t been this upbeat since Yavin.”

“What about Yavin?” Princess Leia Organa sidled up next to Solo.

“Mornin’, Princess,” Han beamed at her.

“Good morning, Captain,” she replied, a soft smile tilting the corners of her lips. 

Wedge surveyed their interaction with interest, watching as the two simply gazed at each other with somewhat dopey grins on their faces. “Solo!” he finally snapped. “The Princess asked you a question. What about Yavin?”

With a slight shake of his head, Han returned to the moment. “I was just sayin’ I don’t remember this crowd of do-gooders havin’ as much fun since the Yavin celebration.”

“Mmmmh,” Leia agreed. “You all deserve a lot of thanks,” she smiled warmly at the Rebel party planners. Her attention returned to Han and she added wistfully, “It was a wonderful night.” 

“Yeah, Sweetheart, it was.” 

The two radiated a warmth and contentment between them that Wedge—nor any of the other the Rebels seated at the table, judging from the slightly dumbstruck expressions he saw as he glanced around—had never seen.

Wes caught his eye, a questioning look on his face. Lyrena simply rolled her eyes and shrugged. 

Wedge, however, had something to say.

“Your chrono didn’t turn up, Solo,” he said, fixing his fellow Corellian with a curious stare. “Are you sure—.”

“Oh, I forgot,” Leia interjected, and then reached into her pocket to produce Han’s timepiece.

Han snatched the chrono from her hand—a little too hastily, Wedge thought, and then sputtered, “Ahhh. Yeah! Forgot I gave it to you last night to...uh...keep it outta the drink coolers.” He swallowed and quickly added, “Thanks, Sweetheart.”

Leia blinked, and Wedge saw the moment when she realized her faux pas. Her mouth dropped open and worked silently for a few seconds, and when she finally spoke she seemed flustered, and less than her usual glib self. “Yes,” she chirped,” I found it in my jacket pocket this morning, and...oh, my! Speaking of chronos, don’t we have that briefing to get to….now?” Her wide eyes shifted toward the exit, as if offering a hint for him to get them out of there…and fast.

“Oh, yeah!” Han snapped his fingers, reacting overly enthusiastically for someone who was legendary for his disdain for meetings. “Gotta run, guys. Talk to ya soon. Thanks again.” And with that, he took the Princess’ arm and whisked her out of the Mess Hall.

Everyone gathered at the table fell silent. Wedge glanced around, taking in the furrowed brows and raised eyebrows that followed in the wake of the pair’s hasty departure. 

As the assembled crew turned to one another and began to whisper amongst themselves, Wes caught Wedge’s eye, grinned, and then slapped the flat of his palm against the tabletop. 

“That’s it,” he declared. “All bets are off!”


End file.
